The GumShoe Gang
by amberfly
Summary: Charlie and his gang of summer-time friends. Another look at the cabin at Otter Tail County.


Author: Amberfly

Author: Amberfly.

Series: The Cabin.

Title: The Gum-shoe Gang.

Warnings: None.

Feedback: Yes, Please.

O

Charlie's story.

The winter in Otter Tail County, Minnesota had been fierce, and suffering storm damage, the once loved tree house took its annual battering. The roof lifted precariously in the wind, and with rain storming through the cracks, the derelict tree house had seen better days. The old wooden ladder banged against the tree trunk, and rotten, was scarcely recognizable. The flagpole once proudly flying its flag was bent and broken and a sharp reminder that nobody visited this little haven anymore. But that wasn't always the case. Once upon a time; this tree house had been the fort of four summer time friends, and if it could talk, it would tell the tale of its owner, Charlie Tyler O'Neill.

OoO

The summertime vacations at the family cabin had been among Charlie's happiest times, but more so when his dad took leave. A couple of years after Charlie had passed; Jack finally gathered his courage to opened and read Charlie's beloved red journal. His face clouded with pain, Jack devoured the words, reading his son's delight in having both his mom AND his dad at the cabin. Wincing at the bold, childish writing, Jack felt the slight hint of reproof. Like himself many years before, Charlie loved spending his vacations at the cabin, and wrote how cool it had been to go swimming and fishing with BOTH his mom and his dad. Closing the journal, Jack knew he'd missed too many summers, but on overseas deployment, he'd had little choice, much to his son's understandable disappointment. He knew that Sara, being the good military wife, would have explained that once again, his dad was needed elsewhere, but he knew how Charlie's growing disillusionment had bothered her.

Sara figured her son didn't really understand the excuses she made, and making the call to her father, she'd asked for his special 'Grandpa' help. Drinking her coffee while watching Mike sit quietly with Charlie, Sara shook her head at Jack's O'Neill's complicated life. With a sigh that sounded from the depths of her soul, she whispered. "Flyboy, you are making this very hard for me, you know that don'cha!"

OoO

Mike hunkered down, and motioned for his grandson to sit closer. "Hey, Charlie-horse, come to me. Now, what's all this I hear about you being all sad? Your mom is real worried about you."

Snuggling into his grandfather's strong arms, Charlie nodded, his eyes searching Mike's face for the answers he didn't have. Mike had no idea where in son-in-law was, and he figured he was better off not knowing. He once told Jack, "For an Irishman you don't say much," and seeing Jack's dark eyes stare back, Mike never asked again.

Charlie wrapped his arms around his knees, and with a tremor in his voice, murmured, "G-grandpa, D-daddy might not make it back in time."

"Oh, Charlie-horse!" Mike wiped a hand across his face, giving himself time to think of the right answer. Taking a deep breath, he hugged the little boy tighter, and looking back at his daughter, he shrugged and said kindly, "I know, sport, I know. I'm here, and your mom is here, so we'll have a fine time, you'll see. I'm sure your daddy will be there if he can, so finger's crossed, okay?"

OoO

One summer's day, worried about his sad faced little grandson, Mike came over as usual, and instead of bringing candy and pop, he brought a real treasure. Tidying his garage, he found a pile of his old comics along with a snazzy, red journal. The comics were all about hard-boiled detectives and their ridiculous, over the top talk, and devouring them, Charlie became a devotee. The freckled faced little boy turned gum-shoe overnight, and laboriously wrote down all his adventures at Otter Tail County, leaving nothing out. Immortalized forever in Charlie's diary, the boys from the Gum-Shoe gang never grew up, never moved away, and never died. Blood brothers and summertime friends for eternity.

The Gum-Shoe gang were great kids, but like kids world wide, could bend the truth around a flagpole. With their sun-burnt, freckled faces, ball caps turned back to front, they never looked for trouble, but never the less, managed to scout trouble daily. Occasionally they ran out of luck, and were caught red-handed investigating places that they knew were off limits. The sheriff, Tom Skarritt, was a good-natured family man who mostly found the boys' antic's amusing, but when they went too far, he rounded them up and brought them home to face parental retribution. Sitting in his pick up truck, the small detectives rehearsed their lames excuses, sadly aware their parents had heard them all before… and then some.

"Colonel O'Neill, Ma'am, it's good to see you again, been awhile. Charlie here has something he needs to tell you folks."

"Howdy, Tom. So, Charlie, this better not be about going to the old gas station again. What have you got to say for yourself? Jack asked sternly.

"Had to, no choice! It's where the loot is buried! A hard boiled detective has to know the score, and make darn sure the caper comes first. Capiche, Daddy? Er, I mean, pal?"

"Let's stick with daddy."

Half heartedly delivering the obligatory swat to his son's small backside while depositing him in his bedroom, Jack privately laughed at Charlie's ingenuous spirit, and figured as long as the boys all stayed together, nothing bad could really happen. It's what the infamous Otter Tail Gum Shoe gang did, and while the sheriff and his deputy rolled their collective eyes, they made sure to keep careful watch.

The Gum-Shoes plotting and planning, dreaming and wishing, all took place in the O'Neill tree-house. Like his grandfather and father before him, Jack grew up to be a handy handyman. He'd learned his woodwork skills at the knees of his grandfather, and when Charlie wanted a tree-house, Jack made sure it was sturdy enough to stand the test of time. Together, they drew the plans, scoured hardware stores, and built the best damn fort Ottertail had ever seen. Charlie and his friends were thrilled, and the small gum-shoes scampered up the wooden ladder to discuss the many cases needing to be solved. A born leader, Charlie had been voted the captain of the squad, and one scorching day, they languished in the tree house reading comics, licking ice-creams, and discussing imaginary bank heists. Then with a light bulb popping in his over active brain, Charlie had his greatest _ever_ idea. Slapping his hands together, his brown eyes twinkling with mischief, he decided the squad should investigate the old mansion on the edge of town. Spinning an exciting story, he convinced the others it harbored the missing Whitelaw _sugar_. "Trust me, fellas, the money has to be stashed there! " The gum-shoes would have been better off going to the lake for a swim, which is exactly what they told their parents they would be doing, but-- the lure of adventure was just too darn great.

Licking the last of the chocolate ice cream from the stick, Charlie poked it behind his ear, and tested the waters with his catch phrases memorized from his comics. Struggling to keep a straight face, Charlie confused them all with phrases used when his Grandpa Mike was a boy. "What if we find ole Judge Whitelaw's bean-shooter under the floor boards? What if we find all the sugar? We'd have to get a wayyy big reward! Who's in and who's a stoolie?"

Not all the boys in the gang were so easily impressed. "Charlie O'Neill, what _are_ you jabbering on 'bout? What sugar? Shooter? Your daddy will whoop your fanny if you even _think _'bout touching his gun!" Billy Thomas, the only local boy there, rolled his eyes, and huffed with impatience. An intelligent, bespectacled boy, Billy's daddy was the local editor, and he knew there was no stashed money, sugar, or _whatever_ Charlie called it. Everyone in town knew that Judge Whitelaw gambled all his money away and then disappeared with the visiting school teacher thirty years ago. Looking around the tree-house and seeing the over-bright eyes of his friends, Billy sighed; he knew facts would never get in the way of a guaranteed… never to fail… Captain Charlie O'Neill, plan.

The Captain was indigant. "Duh, Billy! The loot! Sugar is what we detectives call the money, moolah, dosh, stash!"

"Yeah, right, we detectives! Our folks were mighty mad with us about going to the gas station yesterday, if we go to the old Whitelaw place we are so gonna git it!"

"Cluck…cluck…chicken, are ya?"

Faced with the ultimate challenge a boy could face, being called chicken, Billy knew he couldn't back down. Taking their bikes, ball caps on back to front, the squad of detectives pedaled to the old mansion, conveniently forgetting the promise not to wander off without asking permission. That morning, Jack had rounded the kids up on the porch and laid down the law, colonel style.

"Charlie, Tommy, Billy, TJ, listen up. If you boys are going to go off exploring you let me know! You are very lucky to be not grounded after yesterday's stunt, so don't make me come looking, got it?"

With the adrenalin of exploring the forbidden house, Jack's warnings conveniently forgotten, the boys scouted around looking for a way in. Judge Whitelaw's house had been derelict for years, and boarded up; the sheriff had repeatedly warned them to keep away. "The floorboards," he growled," were rotten, and it's plain not safe." Carried away with their dreams of easy wealth, the young detectives ignored the sheriff's good advice, and tumbling through a broken window, tiptoed carefully from room to room.

What they found deflated their enthusiasm quickly. "Whoa! Lookit! This place is a mess!" His flashlight bouncing around the rooms, Charlie snorted with disgust. The boys weren't the first group of kids to explore the old mansion, and old beer cans and empty pizza boxes littered the floor. Disappointment tugging at his mouth, Charlie knew if there had been any stashed loot, the teens who'd trashed the house would have found it first.

Crushed, the boys sighed with bitter disappointment, especially TJ. His mom was all alone now, and the money meant he could have bought her a new house, a new car, and a Super Nintendo 64. A snowy haired angel with large blue eyes that he batted to their full advantage, TJ O'Connor looked around the room, and stammering, pleaded to leave. "C-com'on! T-there's n-n-nothing here b-but old trash, let's g-go swimming!" Not quite nine years old, he was younger than the others, and remembering Jack's dire warning, wanted to leave before they got into more trouble. His mom had been less than impressed with the sheriff's visit of yesterday, and the little boy didn't want to spend another afternoon helping his mom sort washing, followed by bed straight after supper.

Patting his shoulder kindly, Charlie never the less, ignored his pleas. "Okay, keep your shirt on, TJ, let's just look upstairs, maybe the loot was buried up there under the floor boards, and no one looked!" Determined to uncover the imaginary stash, Charlie eyed the old stair case carefully, and blew air between his teeth. "Oy!" The staircase was in poor repair, the balustrade rotten, and the steps broken and sunken. They oozed danger and he knew he should have taken TJ home, but the captain of the Gum Shoe gang just wanted one last look. Just in case. Edging towards the old staircase and swallowing nervously, Charlie and the gang of summer-time friends made one bad decision after the other. Creeping up the stairs, flinching at the creaking underfoot, TJ stumbled, and half fell through a rotten step.

"Charlieeeee, heelpppp! Charlleeeeee!"

"Whoa! Watch'cha go an' fall through the step for?"

Hanging on grimly, TJ looked at Charlie, and eyes watering, bottom lip trembling, began to panic, "I wan' my Mom-me-eee!" Struggling, the little boy became wedged tighter and tighter, a Pooh Bear after eating all his pots of hunny. The others blinked at him with horror, and swallowing nervously, knelt down and grabbed his hands, holding them tightly. If TJ fell any further, they figured he'd be seriously hurt. Pulling on the squirming boy's arms, they only succeeded in making the staircase groan and creak under the added weight, and if they weren't careful, they'd all fall through it. There was only one thing for it; a parent had to be fetched. Looking at each other, not wanting to vocalize the only option left to them, Billy took control, firmly eyeing the shifty looking captain of the squad. "Okay, this was your dumb-ass idea! So, Charlie, I vote we get your dad!"

"Huh? Mine?" The thought was too terrible to consider. Detectives didn't run home and fetch their dads, and Charlie wasn't quite ready to admit defeat **that** quickly. The sheriff's warning words ringing in his ears, Charlie gulped, and knew he had to think quickly, making sure his men didn't lose faith in their captain. "Okay, let's not panic. What have we got and what do we need?" The last thing Charlie wanted was to get a grown up, especially one that he called daddy. He figured if TJ got in, then they could get him out. Shooing the other boys from the stairs, he winced as backpedaling; each step caused more creaking and groaning. TJ was softly crying, Billy was sending him hard, accusing glares, and with a pang of guilt, Charlie knew this great adventure wasn't going well. He eyed the rotten old stairs, and remembering Tom's warning, chewed his lip savagely. 'Oops, maybe the sheriff had a point after all!' Plucking spider webs from TJ's hair, bravely resisting the urge to shudder at the sticky, gossamer touch, Charlie turned all business. Just, he hoped, like his dad would be with men under his command.

"Hey, it'll be okay! I've everything under complete control! Trust me? Okay, men, let's get TJ outta here!"

With a flick of his wrist, he'd sent Billy to get the old rope he seen abandoned in the front room. A plan was formulating in his mind, and Charlie was sure it would work. Any plan good or bad was preferable to fetching his dad. "If we tie this rope under TJ's arms, then we can drag him out." Scampering off to fetch it, Billy shook his head, once again amazed by the captain's _never say die_ attitude. The rope was thicker than he'd hoped, and their tiny fingers struggled to manipulate it. Red faced but determined, they finally they managed to loop it around TJ, and counting to three; they heaved and pulled, finally dragging the dusty, dirty little boy free. Grinning like idiots, very pleased to have dodged a disaster, the relieved boys took turns to ruffle TJ's hair affectionately. The only other thing left to square away was the little boy's silence. If TJ told his mom about his close shave, she'd be around to their folk's cabins demanding retribution, and that was to be avoided at all costs. Circling the stunned, blond haired boy like sharks, Tommy, Billy and Charlie, started their persuasive argument. Waving the others back, Charlie flung his arm around his dusty, dirty, sobbing little friend and said brightly,

"Whew! That was close! Right, T? We don't need to tell our folks, right? What happens with the squad stays with the squad!" Eyeing the hiccupping TJ carefully, the boys waited for him to agree to keep their secret. They all knew their dads would be furious with their on going disobedience, and Jack's parting words hung ominously in the air. TJ's mom was bound to be upset that her baby was hurt, and Charlie figured he'd be held responsible. Gulping at the thought of his mom's face, he squeezed his little friend's shoulder, and demanded slightly more aggressively, "Right? No tattling?"

TJ was too stunned by his near death experience to do anything but nod dumbly. "O-okay, I-I g-guess, but what if my Mom asks about why my t-shirt is torn? And wants to know where my sneaker is?" Raising a sneaker-less foot, TJ shuddered, desperately trying to hold back more tears. "She said now Daddy's gone, we can't afford to buy me anymore and not to lose them!" Bursting into gales of noisy sobs, TJ was a picture of misery.

The boys lowered their eyes, guilt eating at them. Forcing himself to meet TJ's accusing face, Charlie looked at the boys other sneaker and saw a twenty dollar note stuck to the sole. "Hey, what's that?" Pointing to TJ's feet, and snatching up the money, Charlie grinned with delight. "Hey, T-man, you've found the Whitelaw sugar!" Peering through the broken step, his flashlight zooming in near a battered, rotten leather satchel, money spilled everywhere. He'd been right all along.

OoO

Otter Tail county was stunned. A fortune, a fortune was found by four boys! How was that possible? Ten years worth of high school kids with their beer and illicit parties, moaned they'd missed out on the find. Claimants to the Whitelaw family bobbed up daily, hands out and greed flashing in their eyes. It was all for nothing though, the sheriff awarded the money to Mrs. O'Connor after conducting the necessary searches. The bag was only about ten years old and therefore nothing to do with the Whitelaw family. Stashed by parties unknown, the O'Connor's claim was finally upheld, and Frances O'Connor and her only child, Timothy James bought a house, a car, and of course, a Nintendo 64. Finally they were financially secure thanks to Charlie and the summer time gang of gum shoes.

The boys of the Gun Shoe gang became minor celebrities, and even had their picture taken for the local papers. Flapping arms around while enthusiastically kissing her mortified son, TJ's mom was far too excited to be upset about him falling through rotten steps and losing his new sneaker. However, the other arm-folded, toe tapping, Gum Shoe parents weren't _quite_ so forgiving. The hard boiled detectives of Otter Tail were effectively up the creek without a paddle. Hands strategically placed behind backs, eyes downcast, they confessed what exactly they were doing in the Whitelaw mansion, and faced swift parental retribution. Lying on his bed, occasionally wiping away the odd tear of regret, _Captain _Charlie O'Neill wrote down his greatest ever detecting adventure in his journal with the gold leaf edging, leaving nothing out.

Without such much as a murmur of complaint, Tommy became adept in babysitting little siblings and cousins. Still, for a small fee, he managed to talk a cousin or sister into taking over the onerous task so he could slip away to the gang's tree-house.

Working in his dad's office, his days of carousing severely curtailed, Billy snuck out as often as possible, meeting up with the gang to discuss cases needing busting wide open. Thirty years ago, Miss Pink, the local school teacher had flown the coop with the Judge, and there had to be a desperate story behind it. The Gum Shoe gang was determined to find out what just as soon as the townsfolk stopped wagging fingers at them, and their folks lifted their pesky curfews.

Tommy, Billy, TJ, and Charlie spent the rest of their vacation, discussing their amazing and totally awesome detecting skills, all the while dodging exasperated parents. The summer days hot and relentless, the boys played hard, swimming in swimming holes, and fishing in fishing holes. The summer time boys were irrepressible as usual, and despite the fanfare of their success fading due to a monster catfish being caught by Mr. Overton, the kids were very proud of themselves. "Next summer," the little captain told his men, "we will bust the school house story wide open! Just wait, we'll be famous in no time!" But fate stepped in and that was the last summer Charlie spent at Otter Tail. When hearing of his accidental death, the summer time families mourned and cried for the cheeky, brown-eyed little captain of the Gum-Shoe gang.

TBC…Daniel and Cameron's story.


End file.
